


Inner children lost their way

by TheSwedishDestroyer



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engineering, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, John is a Bit Not Good, John is a Mess, Just Friends, Music, No Slash, Roommates, Silly, Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-07 11:48:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwedishDestroyer/pseuds/TheSwedishDestroyer
Summary: Queen decides that it's best for both their economy and creativity that they live together, and only a few weeks after moving in together, John falls sick, and the other lads realise that they really don't know him as well as they'd like to.A kind of non-sentical exploration of John's early relationship with the rest of the band.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Brian's song "driven by you"
> 
> This is my first work in the fandom, I hope you'll enjoy it!

John closed his eyes, allowing a yawn to take control of his body for a second, his jaw falling open and his dry eyes finally getting a break from the roughness of winter air. He registered that it was 19:48 when he shot a glance at the clock, shaking his head slowly as he realised that he had been sitting in the library for close to five hours, though he couldn't possibly have been studying for that amount of time, he was barely two thirds done with his revision for his upcoming exams. 

Right, he had helped the librarian, a lady in her late 40's, set up the library's new computers for an hour. 

He leaned his head on a closed fist, not even bothering to shift positions as his knuckles dug into his cheekbone. His eyelids were heavy, something in the back of his head encouraging him to rest a few minutes so he would at least have a chance of remembering something more from his textbooks, and even though he knew his roommates were probably waiting for him, since he hadn't bothered telling them where he was going, he couldn't seem to care, he just really felt like a nap. 

He reasoned they wouldn't worry, anyways.

He suddenly found his face, literally, planted in his textbook, and with a confused, lazy grumble, he sat up relatively straight, his neck straining uncomfortably, but not painfully, as he blinked the blur of sleep from his eyes, looking around in an attempt to register his surroundings. 

He muttered as he remembered his dreadfully boring homework, staring at his books and notes with a special kind of anger solely reserved for schoolwork. He did enjoy electrical engineering, but sometimes he just wanted to tell the bloody books to sod off and let him have some real fun for a change. 

He let a soft noise slip his lips, a sigh, or perhaps a muffled groan, it was hard to tell, but he was quite obviously distressed as he looked at the clock, immediately starting to shove his books back into his backpack when he realised it was well past midnight, and except for him an a few other sleep deprived students, the 24-hour library was completely empty.

John stopped by the desk on his way out, loaning two books, and returning three he had exhausted every ounce of knowledge from. He thanked the librarian politely, before leaving the building and letting out a steamy breath in the cold night air. 

He grabbed his wallet, checking inside it and silently cursing Roger for insisting that buying beer was the best use of his emergency money.

He sighed, muttering about how stupid it was that he just had to fall asleep at a library all the way across town as he reluctantly stuffed his hands in his pockets, dragging his feet as he slowly, very slowly, moved towards the general area of the band's shared flat. 

The cold air of February soon started biting at his exposed face and ears, and John noted that the thin jacket he was wearing really wasn't fit for the weather, but Freddie had insisted that he just had to wear something fashionable for a change. 

As John moved towards the apartment, his brain told him to hurry to the much needed heat and his soft bed, but the constant shuddering throughout his body didn't seem to agree, never allowing his legs to move faster. There weren't many people outside at this hour, save for a few homeless people tightly wrapped in blankets, and the last few guests leaving the worn-out pubs. John had always been more of an observer, and the quiet night-life on the weekdays had never really caught his attention, but being a part of it, made him feel... Different. It felt like another dimension, really. Like being in a grocery store after midnight, or sitting around the campfire with your best mates, or maybe laying on the hood of your car, gazing at a starlit sky, being just vaguely aware of the radio humming an all too familiar song, played on a worn-out cassette. 

Maybe he just had a thing for being awake way too late, at places he had no business being at. 

Another puff of way too cold wind pulled him from his thoughts, earning another shudder, making him clutch his very red hands harder. 

Curse Roger and his beer. Curse Freddiand his jackets. Curse Brian and his library. Curse the school and its fucking exams. Curse electrical engineering. Curse England and it's cold winters. Curse it all. 

John looked around himself, trying to spot an open café, or at least a pub, but of course he had to be on the only block in London without a pub. He was desperate for some heat and shelter, his red hands shaking violently and his toes numb. 

He hadn't even considered calling his bandmates yet, to tell them that he was fine, until he spotted a phone booth a few meters away. He thought about it for a minute, before deciding that it would be awfully mean to wake them at this hour. He was pretty sure they all started before ten that morning. 

Even as his desperation for warmth grew stronger, the cold only served to slow him down as it slowly crept into the very soul of the bassist, and only after nearly an hour and a half of walking, and absolutely freezing his ass off, the bassist started to recognise his surroundings, letting out a sigh of relief as he spotted his school. Just a few more blocks, he thought. 

Those few blocks, that would usually take him only about twenty minutes to walk, now took nearly twice that, and when he finally reached the building where the band's three bedroom flat was, John's hands were completely numb and had a purple shade. 

John took a few moments to fumble with his keys, only to realise that the door wasn't even locked. Odd, Brian is usually so adamant about locking the door at night. He shook the thought off, only wanting to defrost his icecube for hands. He pushed the door open carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking his bandmates up as he entered the apartment. 

Quite honestly, John had never expected that the boys would worry about him. They hadn't known each other for very long, John still felt like the new guy, and the other three seemed so close. John thought he would be met with darkness and a comfortably numb silence as he entered, but instead he managed to catch a glimpse of a pacing Brian, a scowling Roger, and a Freddie, in the midst of some odd, dramatic gesture, before the three turned towards him, a mixture of emotions that, frankly, the violently shivering John was too exhausted to comprehend, washed over their collective faces. 

"John!" Freddie exclaimed. "oh darling, where have you been?" 

"Christ, mate, you never thought to fucking call, you twat?" Roger, in his usual Rogerness, scowled. 

John didn't even get a second to react to any of it, before two large hands were on him, one pressed against his forehead as the other helped him get off the jacket. 

"fuck, you're absolutely freezing, mate.. How long have you been outside? You look like you're ready to freeze to death any second." Brian muttered, pushing John towards the couch. "Roger, why don't you do something helpful for once and go boil some tea? The lad's practically a snowman."

Brian described how John was feeling pretty spot on, and John started rubbing his stiff, purple hands together. He didn't miss the look Brian and Freddie shared over his head as Roger left the room in all his pouting glory. 

"where have you been, John?" Brian started, crossing his arms. 

"why didn't you call, dear?" 

"did you walk home? Do you realise how cols it is outside?" 

"we have been so worried, we thought something had happened!" 

"I can't believe how stupid you are! Why would you be out so late on a tuseday?" 

"we have been waiting for a call from a hospital or your parents all night, we thought you were dead!" 

"Freddie thought you were dead, I thought you were in a coma" Brian corrected. 

Brian and Freddie were talking so fast, John couldn't get a single word in, so he decided to wait until they were finished. Which took way longer than expected. Roger even managed to return with a much needed cup of hot tea, finally allowing John to warm his poor hands. 

"Lads, lay off the guy, at least give him a chance to explain himself" Roger muttered, taking a seat beside John on the couch.

Suddenly, Brian and Freddie stopped nagging, and John shot Roger a thankful glance, before sipping the tea, squirming slightly under the expectant looks of his flatmates. 

"I was at the library- the one on the other side of campus, and I must've dozed off, I suppose. I'm really sorry for keeping you up, I would have called if I thought you were worrying" John explained, his voice shaking with the cold.

"Why wouldn't you think we wery worrying? Of course we were bloody worrying!" Brian scolded.

"Yes, please do explain, dear, why wouldn't we worry?" Freddie added, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in question.

"Well, I never quite felt like you bunch are as close to me as you are to each other. I mean, I'm just the bassist, it's not like I'm the most important person in the band." John stated, as a matter of fact, which almost made the others flinch in surprise, as a blanket of silence settled in the room.

"You don't really feel like that, do you?" Roger was the first to break the silence.

John simply gave a short nod.

"Why would you say that?" Brian added, his voice almost horrified.

"You lot never really bothered to get to know Me, I guess." John shrugged, before taking another sip of the tea. 

Brian, Freddie and Roger had been staring at each other, as if they were trying to speak without opening their mouths, until Roger glanced at John, letting out a short gasp. The man looked even paler than usually, and Roger's hand was quickly on his forehead. Given his general knowledge of biology, Roger was definitely qualified to diagnose sickness, according to his flatmates. 

"Christ, Deaky, you're burning up" Roger mumbled, sharing a look with Brian. 

"did you walk from the library, John?" Brian asked carefully, getting a short nod as an answer. He noted that Freddie had yet to open his mouth. 

"we should really get you to bed" Roger sighed. 

"I can actually get to bed myself, thank you very much" John mused, before getting up carefully and staggering down the hall, towards his and Freddie's shared room. 

Roger soon disappeared into the bathroom, gathering some medecines to keep the fever down, and Freddie went to fetch a large glass of water. 

When John was properly medicated and hydrated, Freddie, Roger, and Brian gathered in the living room. 

"It might just be the fever, or he might just be tired.. I mean, he hasn't ever mentioned it before, has he?" Roger resoned. 

"He isn't exactly the kind of person to share that type of things with us, though, is he?" Brian added. 

"How would we know?" Freddie finally chimed in. "He's right. We don't know him, and we haven't been trying to get to know him." 

Another moment of silence fell over them. 

"Then we should start getting to know him. He is the best damn bassist out there, he cares so much, he is kind and intelligent, and he sure as hell deserves to feel like a part of the band." Roger finally said, with the kind of confidence he only had when he was really sure of something. 

For once, the three of them immediately agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's chapter two, enjoy!

"Jesus... Why is this damn coffee maker so bloody slow? I've been waiting for ages, I'm so tired!" Roger complained, eyes locked on the pot.

"I'm tired too, Rog. I got to sleep like, what? Three hours? It's ridiculous" Brian agreed, brushing his hair carefully.

A few seconds of silence settled over the kitchen as Roger finishes his toast, sipping a large glass of orange juice. 

"I'm still worried about Deaky" Brian mumbled carefully. "Freddie has been in there forever."

That earned a scoff from Roger.

"Brian, we all appreciate that you care, but it has literally been less than five minutes." He mused, finally being able to pour himself and Brian a cup of coffee each.

"well, isn't five minutes a bit too long? I mean, re-"

Brian didn't have the chance to finish his sentence, when Freddie suddenly entered the kitchen, pushing John in front of him.

John had his pyjama on, with his black and gray blanket draped over his shoulders and clutched tightly to his chest. He was shuddering a bit, his breathing coming out shaking, but that didn't stop him from shuffling over to the coffee pot.

"John?" Brian tried carefully, as he shared a look with Roger. "should he be drinking coffee? Shouldn't he be.. In bed, or something?" Brian asked Roger, the house doctor.

"I think he should. Freddie, what's his temperature?"

"well, I put the thermometer thing in his mouth and waited for a while, and it said that he was 39.2 degrees hot." Freddie hummed, obviously proud of his ability to take his friend's temperature, and not quite realising how bad the fever was.

The reaction he got from that wasn't as positive that he had expected

"Then why the fuck is he up!?" Roger scolded.

"He wanted something to drink!" Freddie gasped in an attempt to defend himself. 

"I don't care, he should be in bed!"

"I couldn't exactly keep him in bed against his will, could I, dear?"

"of course you could, tie him down for all I care, he really should be resting."

John cleared his scratchy throat, his bandmates eyes immediately turning to him.

"I can speak for myself, actually" John whispered. He didn't intend to whisper, but his throat didn't allow him much volume, and his whisper was very raw.

"well, as I'm the only one who actually has an education that could be of help in this situation, I think I should get to at least give you some advice" Roger argued, crossing his arms and pulling his best pout.

"yes, yes, go ahead.." John muttered absentmindedly, going to take a sip of coffee before the cup was snatched from him and given to Freddie. "hey!" he protested, the strain on his throat immediately sending him into a painful and violent coughing fit.

"sorry, mate, I just didn't think caffeine would help you much with that cold." Brian apologised, giving John his very own glass of water instead, getting an angry glare, and a quiet thanks, in return.

John drank the water, looking at Roger as if to say 'go on'.

"well, honestly, I think you should stay home for a while. The rest of the week, at least."

That made John spit out the water. 

"you have to be joking. I have an exam this Friday. And I am absolutely fine" John argued, not really sounding that convincing, and the whispering didn't help his case. 

"and you should really try to rest your voice as much as possible." Roger added. 

John went to argue, which sent him into another coughing fit, and before he knew it, he was being manhandled back to his bedroom by three pairs of hands, not giving him a single second to refuse.

A few minutes later, John had been given all sorts of medicines, almost been drowned with all the water his bandmates wanted him to drink, and had been wrapped so tight in his covers that you could almost think he was trying to grow wings in there. 

The other three looked proudly down at their creation, and then at each other. 

"I don't start class until noon, so I'll be at home until then" Brian smiled. "and Freddie will be home around three, so that only leaves you alone for three hours. Do think you'll survive?" 

Freddie gave a short nod in agreement, and Roger snorted softly. 

"Please, lads, you don't have to take care of me, I can manage perfectly fine on my own" John choughed lightly, though he couldn't deny that he really did appreciate what they were doing for him. 

"nonsense, darling!" Freddie chirped, smiling softly. "We'll get you healthy in no time, I'm sure of it!" 

Finally, John agreed, though still quite reluctantly, and the other three shared a victory fist pump.

An hour later, Roger and Freddie had left for their respective 9 o'clock classes, and Brian has settled in the living room, flipping through a textbook about history. Not that Brian would ever admit it, but the book really didn't have anything to do with anything he was currently studying, he just found it interesting. 

As Brian was about to turn the page, he spotted John exiting his room out of the corner of his eye, and he quickly looked up, watching the bassist stagger down the hall towards the third bedroom that was being used as a music room.

The activity made Brian get up in curiosity. He started walking down the hall, when suddenly a loud crash from the other side of the bedroom door made him quicken his pace. 

When the guitarist pushed the door open, he was met with quite a sight. John, who had a different blanket wrapped around his shoulders than before, was standing in the middle of the room, holding his bass by the neck as he stared, with the most horrified expression Brian had seen, down on the floor next to a guitar stand, where Brian's precious Red Special was lying knocked down. 

When John realised that Brian was also in the room, he immediately started apologising, putting the bass down to pick the guitar up and make sure it was alright, the blanket falling from his shoulders. 

"oh, Brian, I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry, I didn't mean to knock it over, I really didn't, please don't be mad at me, I am so sorry, I can't believe I did that, I'm sorry, I just wanted to do something productive, I didn't mean to do that, please forgive me"

Not even when John had checked and checked and checked again that nothing was wrong, did he stop apologising, the words starting to crumble in on themselves and getting cut in half. 

Brian attempted to calm him down, to convince him that it was okay, but John didn't stop stammering his apologies until the bass he had left leaning against the wall inevitably fell down as well. 

Perhaps it was the fever, the medication, his sleep deprivation, or the stress from his upcoming exams, or maybe all of it, but when that bass hit the ground, John couldn't stop himself from breaking down. 

It was something Brian had never seen before. The bassist just stopped talking, staring blankly in front of himself for a second, before he sank from his crouching position onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face against his arms.

Brian just stared at him for a few seconds. It felt weird seeing John like this, it felt like he was watching something he really shouldn't be seeing. John was usually the most calm and gathered out of all of them. 

Soon enough, John's shoulders had started moving with silent sobs, and Brian crouched beside him, carefully bringing him into his arms. 

"It's gonna be okay, Deak.." He whispered, trying to figure out exactly what to say. "it's gonna be okay.. The red special is okay, your bass is okay, and you're gonna do fine on your exams, trust me.." he mumbled, relieved to feel that John slowly stopped crying. "I'm not mad at you, and I won't judge you.. I think you're having a bit of a hard time, right?" 

John took a while to answer, but finally whispered a scratchy "yeah, I suppose", and Brian chuckled lightly. 

Brian had suggested that the should watch a movie, and John quickly agreed, letting Brian guide him to the living room, where John settled into his favourite corner of the couch, and pulled every blanket around him over his shivering body. 

"Thank you, Bri.." John whispered, after a few minutes of silence. 

"Of course, mate. Anything for my best friends."

Brian hadn't given the words a second thought, but John had taken a beat to let it sink in, a small smile forming on his lips. 

"but next time you smash my guitar on the ground, I'm not letting you off the hook" Brian chuckled, giving John a playful push. 

"Sod off, mate" John chuckled. 

For what felt like the first time ever, the silence that settled between the two felt comfortable, and Brian really didn't mind watching the movie in silence. 

Around half past eleven, Brian decided it was time to get going, and he went to tell John just that, but the younger man had apparently drifted off somewhere during the movie, and was fast asleep. 

Brian chuckled softly. He hadn't ever seen John sleep. 

He could tick off the crying and sleeping box now, both in one day, he mused to himself. 

Brian didn't have the stomach to wake John up to tell him he was leaving, so he simply left, locking the door behind him, as he didn't trust John to wake up in case a robber decided to stop by, and soon, he was off. 

John didn't mind. He really needed the sleep, so much so that when Freddie entered the flat almost four hours later, John was still sleeping peacefully on the couch. 

Freddie had had a rather long day, and silently thanked his lucky stars that he got a chance to eat something and have a cup of coffee, before being on full Deaky Duty. 

Deaky Duty. 

Freddie nodded to himself. That was a title that John would positively dispise, and Freddie decided that it was absolutely perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's that. Kudos are very much appreciated, and feel free to leave comments! I'm not opposed to criticism, and suggestions are welcome, thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's chapter three! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Freddie plopped down on the couch when he finally got bored of just watching John sleep, making the younger man stir awake at the disturbance, with a groggy "hmm?".

Freddie chuckled softly. "Good morning, sleeping beauty" He grinned, watching as John rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"How long have you been here, Fred?" he rasped, his voice strained still, but not as quiet as that morning.

"oh, just an hour or so, I didn't want to wake you" Freddie smiled, handing John the glass of water that was on the coffee table.

"Have you been fed today?" Freddie questioned when John's stomach growled with hunger.

"I'm not a farm animal, Fred. But no, I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday" John mumbled, earning a gasp from Freddie.

"christ, darling! We must get some food in you, you'll starve!"

John didn't quite agree with that, but he was really hungry, and in no way opposed to some food, even though his throat ached at the thought of having to physically eat.

"Yeah, that would be great" John agreed raspily, smiling carefully.

"I've got a surprise for you, darling" Freddie sing-songed, before getting up and disappearing into the kitchen.

Not five minutes later, Freddie returned with a large bowl of soup, and a proud expression on his face.

"I made it myself!"

"really?" John chuckled nervously, thanking Freddie for his efforts as he accepted the food with shaking hands. 

He had to say, he was a bit nervous that the food was going to taste like something with more things in common with rat poison than food, but he was pleasantly surprised as he carefully tasted the soup.

"This is delicious, Fred. You did not make this." he blurted, sounding a bit more surprised than intended, and Freddie rightfully gave an offended gasp.

"that's a ridiculous thing to say. I can cook!" he protested.

"no offence Freddie, but you managed to burn spaghetti once." John whispered. 

"well no one told me you had to add water!" and with that, Freddie had to forfeit, and accept that he couldn't actually cook.

Freddie turned on the radio, tuning it to a channel that was playing While my guitar gently weeps. As Freddie settled back down on the couch, flipping through a magazine, the music filled the room, leaving the two bandmates to appreciate the song in silence. 

John eventually finished his soup, setting the bowl down with a satisfied sigh. 

"Thank you" He whispered, smiling softly. 

"no worries, darling." Freddie smiled, with a nod. "I did use up the last of... Well, basically everything, making that. I think I have to go out for a grocery run, so Roger doesn't murder us when he gets home" Freddie snickered. "do you think you'll be okay?" 

John scoffed. 

"of course. I am a grown man, actually" he reminded with a raw voice. Even though he was the youngest, he was still fully grown, and legally an adult. 

Not that his bandmates always understood that. 

Freddie rolled his eyes, giving John a soft nudge as he got up. "I'll be back in an hour. Don't touch my new blanket. I know you're cold, but it was very expensive and I don't want your sick juices on it, dear" He joked, pulling on his leather jacket. 

"I don't have sick juices, you're disgusting" John coughed, reaching for some tissues. 

"me? Disgusting? Please. Check yourself before I wreck you." 

"It's check yourself before you wreck yourself, Fred."

"I know, but that doesn't fit the context very well, now, does it, darling? I think this fever has made you a bit thick." Freddie grinned, before grabbing his wallet and leaving. "Don't die!" he reminded. 

John watched with an amused grin as the door closed, leaving him alone in the flat. He stretched out on the couch, making a noise that resembled something a terrified velociraptor would make rather than anything human. 

John stared up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a bit nauseous. His head was still aching terribly, his throat burned whenever he swallowed or spoke, and he couldn't stop shivering, and quite frankly, he could barely breathe. He really felt terrible. 

He decided to try to find that warm sweater that Freddie had put in the very back of John's closet, as it apparently wasn't fashionable in the slightest, and stood up. 

Evidently, he stood up far too quickly, which made him incredibly dizzy, making the nausea far worse. He covered his mouth, barely making it to  the bathroom in time before being sick. 

Welp, so much for suffering through the pain of eating. 

John sighed, getting cleaned up before flushing the toilet and leaving the bathroom, entering the hall that connected all the bedrooms. He cast a glance at the cracked open door of the music room, before entering his and Freddie's bedroom. 

He pulled on his warmest sweater, and honestly had to agree with Freddie, it was hideous. He grabbed his toolbox from under his desk, which contained all sorts of stuff, but mainly precision tools, before waddling over to the music room with the heavy box, and some tissues. 

He had been meaning to do some work on his newest find, a beautiful, though very well used, and not quite as well maintained bass, that he was sure could sound like a dream if he put some time and love into it. He had gotten it at a pawn shop for £100, and he suspected that it had been worth around £1000, before it had been so cruelly neglected. 

He laid everything he needed out on the floor, including, but not limited to the bass, new strings, new pickups, some varnishing oil, a soldering iron, and a collection of various other tools. He nodded softly, double checking that he had everything, before playing a cassette on the stereo and laying down on his stomach on the floor, to get to work. 

He moved his head to the music, inspecting the frets and fretboard. It looked fine, just needed some moisture. He moved over slightly, groaning when a drumstick dug into his stomach, making him cough. 

He had to admit, it wasn't the optimal place to do this, but he needed a lot of room, and his desk wasn't that big, so he didn't have many other options. And the music room was pretty well-lit, so outside of a comfort perspective, it wasn't that bad. 

He started with removing the strings, checking that the bridge an nut was fine, so he wouldn't have to replace them as well, before he moved on to the real task at hand. He removed the screws from pickgaurd and pickups, before cutting the wires that still kept it stuck to the bass and lifting the plastic off the instrument completely.

He cut the wires attached to the pickups, grabbing his soldering iron and some soldering wire to attach his new pickups to the-

Freddie opened the door. 

"I'm back! Where are you, darling?" John heard, after some cursing and thumps that he suspected was various food items hitting the floor. 

John knew he wouldn't be able to raise his voice enough to be heard all the way to the kitchen, so he grabbed the drumstick from the floor, throwing it in the general direction of the drums. 

It hit a cymbal, and John got back to work, finishing soldering the wires to his pickups, when suddenly Freddie threw the door open, letting out a horrible scream of what John could only describe as pure terror, when he saw the gutless bass on the floor. 

Freddie startled John, making him slip with the soldering iron, and burning his thumb. 

"Fuck!" he wheezed, sending himself into a violent coughing fit. 

"Shit! I'm sorry!" Freddie apologised, helping John up and to the bathroom so he could run his thumb under some cold water. 

"I didn't mean to startle you, is it bad?" Freddie tried carefully, as John groaned at the cold water hitting his skin. 

"yes, yes, it's fine, really, just stings a bit" John nodded, his usual forgiving smile on his lips. 

He really was the calmest out of all of them. 

Freddie watched John treat his burn for a minute, before curiosity got the better of him. 

"what were you doing to that bass?" 

"She's in surgery, and you just burned the surgeon. She might not make it now, you know" John grinned, looking at Freddie as he waited for a reaction. 

Freddie snorted a laugh, which satisfied John.

Freddie helped John put a wet bandage on his thumb to keep it cold, before patting his back. 

"I should let you get back to your patient, darling" he chuckled. 

John grinned, happy to know that Freddie thought his joke was worth repeating, as he started walking back to the music room.

"By the way, as soon as you get healthy I am absolutely burning that disgusting sweater!" Freddie warned as John opened the door to the music room.

Speaking of fire.

"Fred!" John exclaimed, as the blanket he had left on the floor earlier graduated from just smoking to actually being on fire.

The smoke sent him into yet another coughing fit. 

Freddie heard the panic in John's voice, and immediately rushed to his side. He gasped, tugging the jacket he was still wearing off, and rushing to smother the small fire.

After the fire was fully put out, and John had put the soldering iron back in it's stand, where it couldn't set anything on fire, John and Freddie stared at each other for a minute.

"Holy shit." John breathed, before sneezing, which for some reason served to lighten the mood, putting a smile on Freddies lips. 

"I know, darling. We almost burnt a hospital down"

It was probably because of the scare, but that really made John laugh, so hard his stomach started hurting, and Freddie soon realised how infectious John's laughter was when he started laughing himself.

It was probably the most John had laughed in a while, at least when he was sober, and he hadn't been drunk around anyone in the band yet. Maybe a bit tipsy, but not drunk. 

They laughed together, soon finding themselves panting on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as only soft chuckles left their lips.

"Oh, dear, I have to put the groceries away!" Freddie remembered after a moment of silence, scrambling to get to his feet and hurrying to the kitchen.

John decided that was his chance to get back to work, flipping the cassette in the stereo, and bopping to the beat as he worked on the bass, careful not to burn himself again.

A few minutes later, John heard the door open a second time. 

"Hey, Fred" a tired voice muttered, a voice that belonged to a certain grumpy drummer. "where's Deaky?"

"he's in the music room, but you can't go it there!"

Freddie was right. The blanket and jacket fire remains were still lying on the floor, and John was lying on the floor, still doing surgery on the bass.

"bullshit" Roger muttered, before John heard footsteps in the hall.

"Darling, wait!"

Roger didn't listen, he just opened the door, staring at the bassist, and the remains of the indoors campfire. 

"What the fuck are you doing, mate?" he sighed, Freddie's head peeking over the drummer's shoulder. 

"don't bother the doctor, he's in surgery!" Freddie warned, making both John and himself wheeze with laughter. 

Roger just stared at them with a tired expression, shaking his head. "what the fuck are you on ab- you know what? I don't even want to know. I need food" Roger sighed, leaving his bandmates to their own devices. 

Not until he was out of sight in the kitchen, did he allow himself to smile, secretly amused by his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished. Kudos are much appreciated, and please leave a comment! Feedback is warmly welcomed. Thank you for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, finally an update. This one is a bit long, as a thank you for your patience, and a bit more emotional. Enjoy!

Brian was the last to get home that day. He barely got inside the door before getting his shoes and his jacket off and hurrying to the living room, his eyes scanning the room before shifting regularly from Freddie, to Roger, and back at Freddie, who both looked back with their respective amused expressions.

"Where's Deaky? Is he in bed? Did he get worse? Has any of you given him food?" Brian spoke way too quickly, the questions falling from his tongue like raindrops from the sky on any regular English afternoon. Suddenly he stopped, taking a deep breath through his nose as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion, trying to identify the smell that had completely taken over the small flat. "why does it smell like burnt leather in here?"

It was true. Their flat usually smelled like some mixture of cigarette smoke, old books, new vinyls and whatever perfume Freddie managed to snatch on his way out of a store. Now, however, that mixture of smells that they all were starting to associate with home was masked by the smell of the smoke from what used to be Freddie's leather jacket. 

The queary had Freddie snorting, his smile wide and genuine. He didn't have anything to hide from these two, and he showed it in a physical way, as his personality was always as readable as an open book to anyone. 

"He's in surgery!" Freddie exclaimed between giggles, grinning like a fool. 

Brian's eyes widened in a moment of terror, staring at Freddie for a moment before turning to Roger, looking at him as if asking for an explanation. 

"Calm down, it's some weird inside joke or something" Roger sighed, shaking his head at Freddie, though an amused grin was tugging at his lips. "He's fixing that bass he got a few weeks ago."

Brian let a smile, of both relief and happiness that John and Freddie had an inside joke, curve his lips upwards, a happy chuckle slipping his mouth as he sat down on the couch. 

John, on the other hand, wasn't feeling that great. The adrenaline from the fire had died down, and the exhaustion from his lack of nutrition had returned, leaving him to pick up the last of his tools up in misery when he finally finished with his bass. Well, except the strings. He would put them on later, he just wanted to sleep now.

He left the music room with a blank, pale, though almost a bit nauseous expression on his face, his steps suddenly feeling heavy, his throat scratchy and his body cold as ever.

Immediately when he stepped past the doorway, he could hear his bandmates chatting and laughing among themselves, though he couldn't make a word out. Normally, he would go and sit beside them, not really trying to intrude or be a part of the conversation, just being happy that they let him be in the same room. Today was different. He felt a longing for something that seemed so distant and unreachable for him. He felt his stomach twist as he attempted to associate his bandmates friendship with something he had felt himself, only to remember that he'd never really been close to anyone. He had always had someone that tolerated him, letting him stick around their group of friends when he didn't want to go home after school, and let him sit with them at lunch, though always giving him an odd look when he attempted to join the conversation. Suddenly, he could feel his eyes burning as he listened to the chatter of his bandmates, feeling more isolated from them than ever, and without a bass or alcohol to hide behind, he resorted to physically hide from the grim reality that he might never actually truly be a part of the band, that he was just as replaceable as the leather jacket Freddie had sacrificed, and pulled the door to his bedroom open, closing it just as quickly, before turning the key in the lock. 

The slamming of the door made the three musicians in the livingroom quiet, turning their heads towards the hall as they heard John and Freddie's bedroom door's lock klick. They shared quick looks, before shooting up from their seats as if on cue, and rushing to the bedroom.

Freddie was the first to attempt to make contact, knocking twice on the wooden door. "John, darling, are you okay?" He tried carefully after a few seconds of silence. No answer.

Brian furrowed his brows in worry. "What happened? Do you think he might have broken anything?" Brian whispered, remembering that morning.

"I didn't hear anything, but I'll go check, dear" Freddie nodded, hurrying down the hall.

Now it was Roger's turn to try. He knocked three times, way harder than Freddie, but with such accuracy, you could think he was a clicker. "John, mate, you alright? Come out here, we'll talk it out, yeah?" Still no answer.

"John, please, we just want to help you, whatever's wrong, I'm sure we can work it out." Brin offered, his voice as calm as ever. But no answer, still.

Freddie soon returned, shaking his head before Brian even had time to open his mouth.

"nothing. I checked everything. Guitars, drums, amps, even the vinyls. Nothing" he mumbled, his tone hushed.

"what could be wrong? I don't understand, what usually makes him upset?" Roger whispered.

Freddie shrugged.

"I've only seen him upset once. This morning, because he thought he'd broken my guitar. Nothing is broken, so my knowledge is really not of any use" Brian explained, shaking his head.

Freddie knocked again.

"Come on, darling. Just give us something. Let us know you're alive, at least."

It was meant as a joke, but after a few too many moments without an answer, the three shared a look.

"John?" Roger tried, his voice reflecting the worry in his eyes. 

They let out a collective sigh of relief when a scratchy, rough voice spoke from other side of the room.

"I'm fine, guys. Just go, okay?"

It would have been quite convincing, any irregularities could be blamed on sickness, had it not been for the way John's already fragile voice broke at the end.

John knew it was stupid. Irrational, even, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"John, we don't know if you've got any... History, please don't lock us out, we just want to make sure you're okay" Brian struggled a bit, not sure if that was the right thing to say.

No answer.

Brian, Roger and Freddie shared looks, deciding to leave the bassist alone trough that incredible non-verbal communication they'd manage to master.

"We're gonna leave you alone, John" Roger informed, ignoring the feeling in his gut telling him to kick down the door to make sure the youngest member really was okay.

Roger rarely ignored his gut.

"Dinner will be on the table in an hour, darling, if you're feeling up for it, we thought we'd play some scrabble" Freddie offered, his voice incredibly soft and lined with something that could only be described as care and worry.

Brian felt a pinch in his chest when he heard a quiet whisper of "sorry" from the other side of the door.

"don't do anything stupid, mate." Roger reminded, his voice a bit sharper than intended.

Brian shot him an accusing glare, but Roger shook it off. John knew he didn't mean it like that.

They lingered at the door for a moment, reluctant to leave, as if John would break if he was left unsupervised, but Brian was the first to take a step back, turning to the kitchen to begin cooking dinner. He was really the only competent cook in the band. Freddie left second, going back to the music room to try to gather some more information, to no success.

Roger stuck around for another few minutes, leaning against the door.

He felt like he and John already had somewhat of a bond. They were the youngest, their widely different personalities seemed to level when they were around one another, as if they somehow complemented each other, and not to mention the trust drummers and bassist have to share to be able to play together.

Roger knocked carefully on the door. "John, it's just me. Please, let me in, I don't feel good about leaving you alone" Roger urged, only to be met with more silence. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong, just let me sit with you for a while"

There was a moment of silence, and Roger got ready to leave, when suddenly the lock clicked as John turned the key on the other side. Roger opened the door, entering before John could change his mind. Roger watched John sit back down on his bed, shoulders slumped and eyes focused on the floor, as Roger closed the door behind him. Roger couldn't quite see John's face behind the mane of brunette locks, and judging by the way his chest cramped just seeing John's tired posture, he wasn't sure he wanted to see his face.

Roger grabbed John's desk chair, watching him out of the corner of his eyes when the bassist curled up on his bed, leaning against the corner of the relatively small room.

Roger took the moment to look around the room. Two twin beds were pushed against separate corners, the room split in half by two desks facing each other. It was pretty similar to Roger and Brian's shared room, the only difference being the huge contrast between the decorations, John's side being very simplistic, and Freddie's side being just as outstanding as the man himself.

Roger looked over at John, frowning to himself as he saw the younger man hiding his face against his arms, knees pulled to his chest. It hurt, it physically hurt, watching the man that had become something of a little brother to Roger so quickly, looking so fragile, broken, and not being able to help. 

John hated showing his weak side to people. Usually, that only ever led to ridicule and judgment. That's exactly what he'd expected when he let Roger in. But instead he was met with silence, just as promised. He was given a sympathetic look, not one of invalidation. He wasn't crying, at least, though he was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember why.

They sat like that, John trying to collect himself and Roger waiting patiently for a sign that it was okay to start talking.

It was probably the longest Roger had been quiet in years, and the seconds just seemed to creep by, taking a minute each. He wanted to talk, listen to music, or just bang on something. But he resisted the temptation, even when he spotted the impressive vinyl collection at the foot of John's bed. 

Almost twenty minutes later, John finally looked up, looking at Roger with a puppy like expression, as if asking him to start the conversation. Roger bit back a gasp at the pale complexion of John's face, and Roger couldn't tell if it was the sickness, or if he was seeing things, but John looked even skinnier than usually.

Roger had to swallow the lump in his throat, before opening his mouth, afraid that his voice might fail him.

"How are you, John?" He started simply, his voice unusually calm, which resulted in a deeper, soothing tone that John wasn't really familiar with, but it sounded like home.

John tried to place it. He felt like he had heard that tone before. He closed his eyes, raking his brain for a moment, trying to remember every person he had ever admired.

It was a voice he admired, that much he knew.

He had heard it before. He was sure of it. His father was always stern, never soothing John's nerves, only making him tense. Perhaps a cousin, or a teacher. No.

"John?"

There it was again. He felt it, a name at the back of his head, a face too, parhaps. He just couldn't picture it. Who was it? It felt so close, yet so far away. Like a memory from a life that could have been, a thought that wasn't his own, but someone's who shared his mind. Maybe if he gave it more time, he could remember.

"Yes." John finally whispered, still a bit distracted by his own thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" Roger repeated, his voice soft as ever.

"I.." John paused for a moment, glancing up at Roger, to see a patient smile. "I'm.. Tired. Hungry" he decided.

"Freddie said he gave you some soup, did you finish it?" Roger asked carefully.

John thought back to earlier that day. He did finish it, but he threw up. Could he say that? Would Brian be mad? Would Freddie get hurt? Did he have to go to the hospital? He really hated hospitals.

Roger quickly noticed John's eyes starting to wander, the stress making his shoulders tense, and Roger placed a calming hand on John's arm, making the bassist's eyes return to Roger, grounding him to reality.

"I-I... I did finish... I finished it, I.. I just" John struggled, shaking his head. Why couldn't he speak? He just wanted to finish the sentence. Shit.

"hey, take your time, John"

John paused, taking a deep breath.

"I was sick" He managed, looking up at Roger.

"so you threw up the only thing you've eaten since yesterday?" Roger chuckled lightly. "no wonder you're emotional. You must be exhausted"

He was trying to lighten the mood, but the way John's hands shook in exhaustion, his eyes looking dull and his pale expression bringing out the thinning of his face worried Roger to no end.

John just nodded lightly.

"I am. I'm so tired" he whispered, his throat hoarse with the cold. 

Roger stood up, offering his hand to the trembling bassist, with a comforting smile decorating his lips. John accepted the offer, letting Roger help him up and lead him out of the bedroom, being very aware of every step they took as he was led out into the kitchen. 

Brian was finishing up the food, having quite a pleasant conversation with Freddie regarding a song they were working on, but even though neither of them mentioned it, there was a sense of worry lining every word. 

Freddie had seen Roger dissappear into John's room, and despite listening at the door for several minutes, he hadn't heard a word of conversation. He had been worried about John, but at the same time somewhat proud that Roger could actually keep quiet if he needed to. 

Brian heard Freddie stop mid sentence, making him turn his head, to be met with the sight of Roger supporting a dishevelled, pale and trembling bassist, with eyes locked on the floor, not looking too different than a wounded and malnourished dog. The sight alone made Brian's heart sting with sympathy, and he could tell by the look on Freddie's face that he felt the same. 

"Look who finally decided to come join us" Roger smiled, his voice softer than the two had ever heard, though his eyes shot them both warning glares. "He hasn't eaten enough in far too long, he's starving, the poor lad, when's dinner ready, Bri?"

Brian gave a warm smile. "I actually just finished. John, why don't you go sit down?" he suggested, motioning to the table, and John gave a short nod, sitting down with a soft grunt.

"I'll set the table!" Freddie volunteered, excited to help. And he did, setting the table in what must have been record time, as Brian braught the pasta carbonara to the table.

None of the other three missed the hungry way John looked at the food.

They sat down, giving John a reassuring smile as he looked up shyly, waiting for someone else to help themselves to some food, so he could wait for his turn.

Roger realised that John always was the last to help himself to the food when they were eating together.

After a second, John got the hint, putting the food on his plate, after making sure that they really were waiting for him. The other three watched, in anticipation, not being as discreet as they thought they were being, when John took his first bite, a small smile spreading over his lips when he ate, even though it was a bit painful to swallow.

The other three soon realised it was weird to stare at their friend eating pasta, and started eating themselves.

"Jesus, this is fucking delicious, mate" Roger grinned, his sharp, slightly high-pitched voice returning.

With that comment, conversation quickly erupted, banter and chuckles filling the kitchen in seconds, and they made sure to include John as much as humanly possible.

John, of course, knew what they were doing. It felt good, knowing that they actually cared, and he participated. He was the center of the conversation, not just leaving careful sidenotes and getting only a look in return. He actually contributed to the conversation.

Before they knew it, the food was gone, and two hours had passed, the sun having set completely outside of the window, revealing the night of London. The snow that was now raining down shined bright against the dark background of the sky, covering the roads and sidewalks and in that giving the street outside a beautiful innocent look.

John stared out of the window with his newfound appreciation for the nightlife of London as Roger and Brian cleared the table, Freddie going on a quest to find the scrabble board, and suddenly John didn't feel that alone anymore.

His head was aching and his throat was raw, his eyes were burning and his lungs felt tight, but he enjoyed every second of it. He felt, for the first time in his life, that he was truly a part of something. There weren't any disapproving relations to tell him to get a job, there were no scowling parents to ask him to stop wasting his time making all that noise, it was just him, Freddie, Brian and Roger, who never thought he was weird for rather spending his time writing music than getting drunk, who never accused him of wasting his intelligence, they actually valued him. They valued him for the way he played his bass, for the way he leveled Roger's ego and Freddie's excitement with his own calculation and care, for the way he had completed the other three, brought them together, not only as a band, as friends, but as a family. John let out a breath. These three guys understood. They accepted him. They trusted him, and he trusted them. They were his family.

John let out a soft, happy sigh, as the others settled. Roger won the dice throw, and therefore got to start the game of scrabble.

After a few passionate rounds and Freddie trying to get away with making words up, Brian was in the lead, and somehow they had ended up arguing about who could get the drunkest.

"I once got so drunk, I woke up in the bushes with a bra around my waist" Brian said confidently, as if that story would win without question.

"so what? You had a drunken shag in the bushes, big deal!" Roger retaliated. 

Freddie snorted at that. "I once woke up in some random bloke's bathroom with two forties taped to my hands."

"I woke up with a lady on each arm, with thigh high six inch heels, a big jacket, and no pants!" Roger offered, earning a shake of head from Brian.

"what about you, darling? Had any drunken adventures? Or even had a shag lately?" Freddie grinned, making John's eyes widen as he choked on air.

"I- ehm, no I haven't, not in a few months, actually" John chuckled nervously, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Months!?" Roger exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "when you get better I am so getting you a hot bird to treat!"

John could feel his face starting to heat.

"ah, you're a bassist, I'm sure the ladies appreciate that! Strong hands, and all" Roger winked, he and Freddie starting to laugh hysterically, and Brian soon joining in.

"I'll just introduce you as my good friend Deaky, the bassist, and they'll swoon" Brian snorted.

"your good friend Deaky" John repeated, mainly to himself to varify that he actually heard Brian right. "I'd like that." he decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed that! If so, leave a comment, let me know, and don't be afraid to share some feedback!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this chapter is kind of non-sentical, but I was in a mood and decided to write something. Enjoy!

The night had went on for a few more hours of gameplay and passionate discussion. They had shared stories, making each other laugh and roll their eyes at the same time. They had all agreed early on that there wouldn't be any alcohol, as neither Freddie, Brian or Roger wanted to go to school hungover, and they just wouldn't let John drink when he was sick.

 

At one point, though, Freddie and Roger had lit up a cigarette each, and John had taken a fig himself, reaching for the lighter on the table as his flatmates were in the middle of a heated argument about the order of events that lead to a pubfight a couple of weeks earlier.

 

"Well, the guy just jumped at me for no fucking reason, punched me on the yaw!"

 

"bullshit, Roger, you know damn well that you were the first to throw a punch!"

 

"yes darling, I saw it with my own eyes, I'm afraid you were the one who started it all." Freddie agreed, puffing his cigarette, though never letting out the smoke.

 

It was a strange way to smoke, John noted. 

 

"Well I had to!"

 

"No you didn't, you lost a fucking tooth, Roger!"

 

"The bastard called Freddie a fa-"

 

Suddenly they all got quiet as they heard the clicking of a lighter. They paused for a moment, before turning their heads to John, who was lighting a cigarette.

 

John looked up, raising his brow at the accusing looks, before taking a short drag from the fig. Roger pushed the remains of his own cigarette into the ashtray, never taking his eyes off of John. When they didn't stop staring, John started feeling self-conscious, like he did something wrong. 

 

"what? Was that your cigarettes, Freddie? I'm sorry, I would have asked, but you seemed b-"

 

Roger cut him off by snatching the fig from between his long, slim fingers.

 

"You can't smoke, John. You're sick, remember?" Brian warned, shaking his head disapprovingly. 

 

"what? Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do, hm?" John muttered, crossing his arms. 

 

"someone seems a bit cranky. You can't smoke because it will upset your throat, dear" Freddie offered as an explanation. 

 

"Ah, shut up, Fred. One cigarette won't do any harm. You lot are smoking, it's only rude that you won't let me!" John argued. He didn't mean to yell, he never did, but he was tired and miserable, and he really wanted a fucking cigarette. 

 

The other three looked a bit surprised. They hadn't ever heard the bassist yell, or be angry at all, really. 

 

"alright, I think someone has had enough for tonight. Maybe you should get some sleep, yeah? You had a long day" Roger insisted, after a moment of silence. 

 

"you fucking imbeciles actually think that I'm a god dammed child, don't you? Fucking hell" John muttered. He wasn't yelling, but hearing him swear surprised his friends just as much. 

 

And to believe he was the calm one. 

 

John rolled his eyes, getting up from his chair and walking to the bathroom, arms still crossed over his chest. He was angry at no one, and for no reason, other than himself and his annoying cold, and taking it out on his best mates was the last thing he wanted to do. He turned the tap on, listening to the calming sound of running water for a moment, his green, slightly bloodshot eyes staring back at him through the mirror. 

 

He blinked, leaning closer to the mirror. He looked a mess. His hair was greasy and sticking out at weird angles, looking like it usually did after a long study session when he had spent hours running his hand through his hair. It was a habit he had been meaning to stop, but never got around to. His eyes looked drowsy, just like he felt, his skin was pale and his cheeks seemed unusually hollowed. He pressed chapped lips together, lips that didn't seem to want to form a smile now that he was alone. 

 

He sighed, ducking his head towards the sink to wash the cold water over his face, finally feeling somewhat refreshed. 

 

He would have to take a shower when he woke up, though. Right now he wanted to sleep. 

 

He cleaned his face carefully, using the soap next to the sink. When he had washed it off, and water was still trying to sneak it's way into his eyes, someone opened the door to the bathroom. John reached blindly after a towel, only to have one placed in his hands. 

 

When John regained his sight, he looked into the mirror, over his shoulder, to see Brian, wearing his usual calming smile. 

 

"I'm sorry I yelled, Brian" he chuckled nervously, the water having washed away his need for nicotine. 

 

"It's okay, mate, no need to apologise. The rest of us are constantly in screaming fights, it was just a matter of time before you joined in" 

 

Brian's voice was as calm as ever, that damn smile that could even calm Roger down plastered on his lips. He patted John on his shoulder as they looked at each other through the mirror. 

 

"You look good, mate." Brian chuckled after a moment of silence, making John finally show that beautiful smile they all loved so much. 

 

"I wish I could say the same, but you need to brush that poodle-like excuse for hair, Bri" John grinned, earning a nudge to his ribs. 

 

"Not you too, I get enough shit about my hair from Freddie and Roger!"

 

John giggled, leaning against the big-haired guitarist. He wasn't actually offended, John knew that. 

 

"I see you stopped being grumpy, darling" Freddie chirped, joining them in the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

 

It was getting cramped. 

 

John grabbed his toothbrush, before being pushed towards the wall by a long arm as Brian reached for his toothbrush. Freddie was already brushing his teeth, looking in the mirror as he moved his hips to an imaginary beat, Brian running his toothbrush under the tap before putting toothpaste onto the brush, and handing the tube to John, who was still pushed up against the wall. 

 

Just when John and Brian had started brushing their teeth, Roger pushed himself in between the other three, grabbing his own toothbrush. 

 

"Roger!" Freddie squealed, his voice muffled by his toothbrush, as he almost tripped and fell into the tub. 

 

Roger snorted, shaking his head as he started brushing his teeth. 

 

John stayed pressed up against the wall, brushing his teeth as best he could with his limited space. 

 

John couldn't help but smile. 

 

They were so incredibly different, but they complemented each other, not only in music, but in every aspect of their life. 

 

Freddie was a thunderstorm, beautiful and loud, making you stop in your tracks to admire the fierce lightning, but still making you jump at the thunder that follows. Depending on who you were, the storm could either scare you or comfort you, John personally felt comforted. He could hide behind the thunder when he didn't want to be heard, but Freddie's lightning was always there to put the spotlight on John when he was ready. 

 

Roger was a blizzard, rough and wild and uncontained. Sometimes, he was unbearable, but once the wind settled, once the snow stopped raining and started sprinkling against the backdrop of a dark sky, once you could sit around a fire outside, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate, you couldn't imagine a better place to be. 

 

And Brian. Brian was the eye of the storm. Peaceful. Rational. Calm. Until you took one too many steps in the wrong direction. Without a warning, Brian could completely erupt, destroying you quicker than you could react. Of course, that rarely happened, he usually managed to stay calm, but once you crossed the line, there was no going back. 

 

And for John himself, he wasn't sure what he was. Perhaps a summer drizzle, kind and gentle, perhaps the first snowfall, shy but holding a promise of the greatness that was to come, the foundation of a nice winter. He wasn't sure. 

 

His bandmates were, though. 

 

They knew that John could be so much more than any of them, given the right support. They knew John was kind and gentle and loving, and would always support them all through anything, whether he was there by their side or watching from a distance. They knew he cared, but they knew he wasn't weak. Not at all. They knew he had been hurt and broken on many occasions, they knew his kindness had been forged from suffering and pain during the darkest of hours, they knew he would never be the first to start a fight, but he wasn't soft. He was gentle, but he wasn't afraid to stand up for what he believed in. His core was a solid metal cage, built by bits and pieces from every hard lesson he had learnt, protecting the most intimate parts of him. Treat him right and he would unlock that cage for you, but throw a punch and you'd break your hand.

 

One by one, they finished their nightly routines, John soon finding himself alone in the bathroom to rinse the toothpaste from his mouth. He often found himself enjoying being alone, but he hated feeling lonely, so as soon as he finished, the turned and pulled the door open, only to be met by three waiting figures in the hallway.

 

His eyes widened, his arms tugging in reflex as he had to hold back the urge to punch the closest figure in the face, soon realising that it was only his flatmates, who were now laughing at his overly dramatic reaction.

 

John didn't mind. Not at all.

 

"Shut up, you three! You scared me, you can only blame yourselves" John said, eyes narrowed in a playful sense of anger, though the expression melted into a sweet smile far too quickly to be taken seriously.

 

"Pfft, scared of Roger, the little rat, are you, mate?" Brian snorted, nudging Roger playfully.

 

"Excuse me, how dare you?" Roger gasped just as playfully.

 

"It's not that scary, you're small enough to step on, Rog"

 

Before Roger got the chance to argue, Freddie interrupted.

 

"There, there, ladies, I think it's time to get some sleep, right, darling?"

 

The question was aimed at John, who simply nodded in response, his throat still being sore.

 

"So it's settled! To bed now, ladies, go on" Freddie urged, basically escorting the musicians to their bedroom.

 

John chuckled lightly at the sight, a soft smile curving his lips. He stepped into his and Freddie's room, changing into his pyjamas. 

 

Before he knew it, he was kneeling in front of the box at the foot of his bed, containing his precious vinyls. He searched through them, looking for nothing in particular when the album 'Time and a word' by Yes caught his attention. It was a fairly new addition to his collection, and he absolutely loved the bass in it, so he decided to have another listen to it.

 

John placed the record on the record player on his bedside table with such care, it seemed like he thought the vinyl would shatter if he touched it wrong. He grabbed his headphones, something he had recently invested in to help him get to sleep easier without bothering Freddie with his music, and he plugged them in, carefully dropping the needle on the record. He laid down, placing the headphones over his ears as he closed his eyes, letting the music surround him, the words of a man who's name he couldn't quite remember was sung in the voices of men he probably would never get to know, bringing him into another world.

 

_'Step out in the night when you get lonely_

_Listening for the sounds city ears don't hear_

_I know your cross is gettin' heavier with every step_

_But I know a man who walked miles for you'_

 

John bit his lip. Something with those words resonated so deeply with him, but he couldn't understand why.

 

_'Stop, take a look at yourself_

_Take a good look_

_Take a good look_

_Take a good look_

 

_Can't talk to momma_

_'Cause she'd only tell ya she told you so_

_That some of us are still learning_

_That the real trick to life we all know'_

 

There it was again, that feeling. He felt like knew these words and what they meant, he could feel a sense of nostalgia for a time he never experienced, for a place he had never seen, for people he never knew. He could feel that name in the back of his head again, begging to be remembered, but he couldn't picture the face, he didn't know the name.

 

_'Life flashed to day at the dawning_

_Daytime, nighttime, we still don't see_

_Why must we wait until morning_

_To wake up and be, wake up and be, wake up and be, wake up and be_

_Wake up and be'_

 

He had been feeling this feeling he couldn't quite explain, couldn't quite express, way too often lately. Like he was remembering someone else's memories, seeing flashes and pictures, hearing voices and music, from a life he never lived. He had been feeling it for as long as he could remember. It was always something like music or art that brought that feeling to him, and he didn't mind it. It was his way of interpretating things.

 

_'Now you and I both know there's no such thing as up and down_

_And when your problems got you goin' 'round and 'round_

_Gotta talk like a man to poppa 'cause he don't understand that_

_Since we're part of the cross he's carried  dragging long enough_

_Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up_

_Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up'_

 

With that last sentence repeating distantly in the back of his head, over and over, he could feel himself slowly drifting off, with a last thought occupying his mind before it all went dark.

 

Maybe some day people will feel like they also shared this flat with Brian and Roger and Freddie. Maybe some day people will see images from my life. Maybe some day people will miss my sister like I do, even if they don't know her. Maybe someday people will feel the feeling of rough strings against hardened fingers. Maybe someday people will sit with our very own record spinning on their vinyl player, wondering what that name at the back of their head was.

 

Maybe that name at the back of their head could be John Richard Deacon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is called "no opportunity necessary, no experience needed", and was written by Richie Havens, but was later covered by Yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit dark because I'm sad, and it's also quite short because I just felt like writing something real quick.

John woke up to the sound of loud voices arguing in the kitchen and the shuffling of feet a few meters away from him, with a pounding headache and his eyes seemingly glued shut. He wondered for a second how much he had to drink last night, before remembering what the actual problem was.

 

He let out a deep sigh, basically prying his eyes open before begrudgingly pushing himself up to a sitting position. That's when he noticed Freddie on the other side of the room, methodically arranging and rearranging the pillows on his neatly made bed.

 

"You good, mate?" John croaked, kind of startling himself with the realisation that his voice was way deeper and hoarse than normally.

 

Freddie seemed startled too, judging by the way he jumped when John opened his mouth.

 

"Wha- Yes, well, I am perfectly fine, Johnny dear, it's just that our dear friends are having a little argument and I needed an excuse to escape" He grinnied, elegantly waltzing over to John's side of the room and sitting on the soft bed. "You don't sound very well, how are you feeling?"

 

He sounded genuinely worried, pressing his hand against John's forehead, expertly pretending he actually knew what he was doing.

 

"I don't feel very good, I'm afraid. I was hoping I could go back to class today, but it doesn't seem like it" John shook his head in disappointment, letting out a soft sigh. It was becoming a favourite pastime of his.

 

Freddie scoffed at that. "There is no way I would let you go to school today, and you bloody well know it." He huffed, reaching for something on John's bedside table.

 

It turned out to be a mixture of various over the counter medecines and a glass of water. 

 

"I had Roger write you a prescription" Freddie chuckled.

 

Well, these two certainly enjoy playing doctor, John mused to himself, as he forced various drugs down his sore throat with the help of some ice cold water.

 

"Thank you Fred. It means a lot, really" John coughed lightly, his trademark smile covering his chapped lips.

 

They were very chapped, Freddie noted, a cringe sneaking up his spine.

 

"Sit right there, dear. I have to get something, I'll be right back." he smiled, patting John's knee before getting up and disappearing into the bathroom.

 

As soon as Freddie opened the door, the loud voices of the remaining two bandmates rushed into the room. They were impossibly loud, and John could hear a distant crash of a plate against the wall. He sat up, leaning forward in an attempt to listen to the arguments. 

 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! He's not good, Brian!" 

 

Who wasn't good? What did they mean by good? 

 

"What the actual fuck do you know about that, huh!? Oh, oh, you're the drummer, you know him, blah blah! Come on, Rog!" 

 

Were they talking about him?

 

"Well I do know him! He trusts me, I trust him, that's how this works! He is not good, he's not even okay!"

 

"Alright, fine, maybe he's not good, but we can't exactly help him, can we!?" 

 

John took a deep breath, his eyes shifting around the room. What were they talking about? Was he a bad bassist? A bad friend? 

 

He didn't have time to think about it too much, before Freddie entered the room again. 

 

"Alright sweetheart, I have this wonderful lip balm I got down at the market the other day." Freddie smiled, sitting back down on John's bed. "Come here" He motioned for John to lean closer, and John complied.

 

Freddie picked up some of the balm on his finger, gently dabbing the product on John's lips.

 

"You have nice lips, dear.. Shame you don't take care of them" Freddie mumbled softly.

 

"Thank you, Fred" John paused for a second. "what are Brian and Roger fighting about, anyway?"

 

Freddie stopped in his tracks for a moment, before continuing to dab John's lips. He hesitated, unsure if it was a good idea to tell John that they were fighting about him.

 

"well... That doesn't really matter to you, love. You know that they fight" Freddie offered a smile.

 

John didn't return the smile.

 

"Right. I shouldn't have asked, I mean, I'm just the bassist, right?" He sighed, pushing Freddie's hand away from his face. "and besides, why ask you, what does a design student know anyway?" He said, _just like that_.

 

Because John was _just like that_.

 

He was sweet and conciderate, but he could destroy you with two sentences and a side-eye. Sadly, Freddie had to be the first to realise this. He left Freddie dumb-founded, staring after him as he got up and left the room.

 

Because it was true. They treated John like everyone treated bassists, like they didn't matter, like they weren't important, but John was so much more. He was the foundation to the band, not only to their sound, but to their dynamic, to their relationships. He was always in the back, in the dark, as the light shone on Freddie, Roger and Brian. He was so talented, but no one ever acknowledged it, because he was the bassist, and he didn't mind being treated like he was.

 

Most of the time, at least. 

 

Freddie heard Roger and Brian's yelling die down, supposedly as John entered the room, being replaced by indistinct muttering. He stared blankly at the open door.

 

This was the exact thing he had been meaning to stop. This was what he had been doing wrong all along, but for some stupid reason it was like second nature to keep the bassist in the dark if he thought something might hurt him. Freddie wanted to protect John, but he never wanted him to feel invalidated.

 

Freddie got up, going to join the rest of the band in the kitchen. He didn't have his usual happy smile anymore. He wasn't sad or hurt, exactly. He was just confused, concerned.

 

"So, is anyone going to tell me what this fight was about?" John demanded, arms crossed over his chest.

 

The three exchanged looks, urging each other to tell him, but no one did.

 

"I'm not naïve, lads. I know it was about me. Now, please tell me before I start crying like a little girl" he paused for a moment, obviously distressed as he looked at his bandmates. "are you guys going to... Let me go?" he struggled, trying to find the right words.

 

His friends just stared at him, their expressions unreadable. That's when John started fidgeting. He loved playing music. He loved playing with Queen. It started out as a hobby, but he didn't want to quit now. It was becoming his life. He didn't want to leave his family.

 

"John." Brian breathed, John's eyes shooting to the floor. "John, look at me. Eyes up, come on" He whispered.

 

John could feel a hand on his arm, the palm rough with calluses. Roger. He glanced up, meeting Brian's captivating eyes. He couldn't look away.

 

"John, listen. We don't want you to go. There is no Queen without you, John. Do you understand that?" Brian whispered, his voice so genuine it almost made John shiver.

 

If he was honest, then why didn't John believe him?

 

"what was all that  _he's not even okay_ about, then? I mean why keep me around if I can't even play properly?" John heard himself say, his attention returning to the floor. 

 

"John. Deaky. Come on, don't be like that. Look at us, will you?" Roger urged, giving John's arm a reaffirming squeeze. "We weren't arguing about your talent. There's no arguing about that, you're so fucking talented."

 

Roger shot Freddie a glance, encouraging him to take over. 

 

"Roger is right. There's no doubt about you having talent, dear. They were arguing about your.. Your mental health, I suppose." Freddie mumbled softly. 

 

Freddie was so affectionate, and John very much appreciated that. Even when he couldn't handle putting a decent thought together, he knew that Freddie was always there to comfort him. 

 

"my.. My mental health?" John whispered, eyes still locked on the floor. "You were arguing about my mental health."

 

"that's right, darling." 

 

"what do you reckon s'wrong with me, then?" 

 

"Deaky, don't be like that. Nothing is wrong with you. We just... We think you need some rest." Brian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

"You're pushing yourself too hard. You don't let yourself relax. You've hit a wall, and you're still pushing, Deaks." Roger paused, glancing at Freddie. "You're not well. You can't see that you need to take a break, but just looking at you, it's so obvious that you're tense."

 

"Oh, I'm tense? I need to relax? You suppose I have a wank, or what?" John muttered. He was lashing out because he felt vulnerable, he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself.

 

"It's okay, darling. You don't have to be defensive. We won't judge you. We're here for you, through it all. You just have to trust us, alright?"

 

John stared blankly at the floor for a few moments, letting everything his bandmates had said sink in, before he looked up. He was met by six worried eyes, and another squeeze on his arm.

 

"I'm not good. I'm not even okay. I don't know what's wrong with me." John breathed. "But I don't want your help. I don't want your sympathy. I don't want you guys playing shrinks. I just want to figure this out, and I want you to be with me when I do."

 

The three shared a quick look, before nodding.

 

"Alright. Let's make a deal. If you want to talk to us, you have to talk to us, but we won't push or prod. You share as much as you're comfortable with, no more, no less. Okay?" Roger offered, holding his hand out.

 

John cocked his head lightly, glancing at Freddie and Brian, who looked somewhat hopeful, and he nodded, shaking Roger's hand.

 

"you've got yourself a deal, drummer boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's that. I know it didn't make much sense, but I was bored, so ya gotta live with it :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's another chapter. I'm not sure what to put here, so just enjoy, I guess :)

Freddie leaned against the doorway, watching John run his hand through his hair yet another time, before letting the warm, nutbrown locks drape over his face and just barely gather on the electronics book he had been bent over for the last hour, before clutching a handful of hair in each hand. 

 

He looked frustrated, there was no denying that. 

 

"If the... Then it goes.. So it does... Carries the electrons..." He muttered to himself, half of the word incomprehensible by anybody but himself, he was just trying to make sense of the paragraph. 

 

"Alright, that's enough, honey" Freddie decided. 

 

John jumped in surprise, looking over at Freddie, soley on instinct. He blinked, registering the features of his angel-voiced friend. Raven hair, flowing seemingly effortlessly to just above broad shoulders. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes like worn leather in the glow of an early sun. Teeth as outstanding as the clothes dressing his eccentric friend. 

 

He had figured out that it was a good way to calm himself down. 

 

John flashed one of his signature smiles, sweet, revering, dare I say coy, as he chuckled lightly. It wasn't his usual feathery laugh that made your stomach stir with joy, it wasn't his adoring giggle that sent an irresistible grin to your lips, no, it was a polite chuckle. Nothing joyous in the slightest. But Freddie would let it slide. This time. 

 

"It's time for lunch and some water, you've barely left your room all day, Deaky." Freddie urged, his voice stern in something akin to demand. 

 

"I just have to finish this chapter, Fred. I'll get some nutrition when I'm done, yeah?" he offered, his voice reminding Freddie of the scratching of a needle against vinyl, or the buzz of a badly set up bass guitar cranked on eleven. 

 

"No. You need tea and food. Not negotiable." Freddie wouldn't budge on this one. They both knew that. 

 

"Alright, fine." John sighed in defeat, begrudgingly getting up and stalking to the hall, sticking his tongue out as he passed Freddie in the doorway. 

 

"You are so immature, John!" Freddie cooed, a soft laugh behind his voice as he followed the young bassist into the kitchen.

 

John was already picking out supplies for his lunch. Toast. Butter. A block of goda Roger had snatched from the grocery store, because cheese was expensive. That was a fact of life John had to learn the hard way when he moved to London.

 

The brunette plopped two pieces of toast in the toaster, before turning to Freddie. Sweet, adoring, and so incredibly special. John let out a soft sigh.

 

He was envious. He'd admit that. He was always envious of his bandmates. They had such strong characters, people noticed them, fell heads over heals in a heartbeat. Wild Roger. Brilliant Brian. Extraordinary Freddie. And then there was John. Lonely, invisible John. John wanted to be outstanding as well. He was envious.

 

"John?" 

 

The powerful, yet so delicately sweet voice pulled John from his thoughts, making him look his friend in the eyes.

 

"Hm?" he raised his eyebrows in question.

 

"What are you thinking about, John?"

 

How much it hurts, being alone. How bad I feel about not being able to talk to you. How the sadness just catch up with me all at once sometimes. That’s the biggest struggle of it, and I'm using the word struggle in the most rudimentary of ways because the truth is it’s so much more. It feels completely and utterly devistating. No, that's not it. There's a word, something worse. It all feels woefully inadequate, just like I do. My actions aren’t enough. My words are weak. I'm not enough. I’ll never be enough. Because I'm weak.

 

John forced his lips to curl into a gentle smile, though the despair in his eyes was impossible to miss.

 

"Nothing. Just.. Worried about the exams, I suppose" John coughed lightly, quickly turning to the toaster.

 

He knew he was a horrible liar, but Freddie had agreed to not push it. 

 

John started spreading butter over his still hot pieces of toast, barely catching Freddie's hushed mutter.

 

"Exams my ass"

 

John bit his cheek, holding back a smile as he carefully shaved a few thin pieces of cheese for each of his toasts. They hadn't known each other for very long, but Freddie could see right past his bullshit, and that was strangely comforting.

 

John turned back to Freddie, a careful, but nonetheless genuine smile on his lips. Freddie was in the middle of pouring tea in two cups. He put a bit of honey in John's, to help sooth his throat, and John couldn't help but smile at that. It was nice to know he cared.

 

When Freddie had given John the white porselin cup, he raised his own in a silent invitation, and of course John raised his own, a cautious look in his eyes. 

 

"To better days." Freddie declared, earning one of those smiles that showed off the gap in John's teeth, his eyes glittering for just a moment in what Freddie could only assume to be actual happiness. It was stupid, but it made Freddie's stomach stir with fondness.

 

"To better days" John repeated, touching Freddie's cup with his own in a soft clink. 

 

To better days.

 

Whether those days had already been lived, or they had yet to be experienced, he wasn't sure. What he did know was that it didn't matter. For now, sitting in the living room, drinking tea and munching on cheese toast while watching Freddie prance around to the music playing on the radio was enough. It was more than enough.

 

It was distracting. It was perfect. He needed to have a break from himself.

 

Eventually, the music on the radio became soft, slow, letting the singer, who coudn't resist being pulled and manipulated by music, finally have a break and sit down next to the bassist.

 

"We have a gig Saturday. Just another pub gig." Freddie reminded after a few moments of silence.

 

That's right. John had completely forgotten.

 

"yes, yes, I remember." John nodded, voice still hoarse with the cold. "Can I play?" he tried, after sipping his tea. 

 

The queary made Freddie huff a laugh.

 

"I was just about to ask you the same. Do feel up for playing Saturday?" Freddie grinned, proudly showing his beautiful teeth as he reached to give John a nudge.

 

"Well, I certainly won't let guys play with some other miserable sud, no, I wanna play" John chuckled light, looking up from his cup with a hopeful look in his eyes.

 

Freddie could feel his stomach stir warmly at that, and promised John that the band would go to their rehearsal place as soon as the others got home, and John was immediately off to string his newly renovated bass. He was just happy that they were letting him leave the flat.

 

When Brian and Roger got home, John had already packed his bass, cables, extra strings and a bag of brand new picks in a sticker-covered case, waiting impatiently by the door in anticipation.

 

He needed more stimuli, the flat was so well-known by now, he didn't have anything more to think about, and therefore didn't have any distractions, that's why it was all hitting him so hard again, because he couldn't get his mind off of it. He needed to get out.

 

Needless to say, Brian and Roger were shocked by the seemingly excited bassist, basically jumping out of his platform heels to get to the studio. 

 

"What's this about?" Brian questioned, picking up the backpack Roger had absent-mindedly dropped on the floor as soon as he got inside. 

 

Roger didn't care, he was focused on John.

 

For the first time in days he had changed out of his pyjamas bottoms, had a shower, put on his favourite pair of boots and even, presumably with the help of Freddie, put on what was objectively a nice outfit, consisting of boot-cut white jeans and an outlandishly beautiful flower-patterned black and white blouse. 

 

"why are you so dressed up?" Roger heard himself ask. 

 

"He's leaving the flat for the first time in days, I insisted he was to be beautiful when he resurfaced, and dear, did he deliver!" Freddie called from the music room. 

 

Roger was sure he could see a peachy blush dust John's pale cheeks at that. Roger had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling.

 

"Wait, why is John leaving the flat? He's sick!" Brian protested, bracing himself for an argument.

 

"Please, darling, put the pieces together. You're supposed to be the clever one! Look at the facts, we have a gig on Saturday, John has packed his bass," Freddie yelled from the music room, keeping his voice up even as he emerged into the livingroom, holding Brian's guitar case. "and I have your guitar." His grin was sly as he pushed the case against Brian's chest.

 

Brian stared at him for a moment. "We're gonna rehearse, are we? John is leaving because we're going to practice?" He questioned, his tone lined with something none of the others could quite place.

 

Freddie gave a short nod.

 

Brian sighed softly, putting his guitar down. "Not dressed like that, he isn't." Brian decided, voice soft as ever, but still demanding.

 

Roger chuckled, nudging Brian lightly. "come on, mother, he looks great, let him show off that outfit!" Roger grinned.

 

John's already peachy cheeks turned a darker shade of pink, but Roger decided not to comment on that.

 

Roger flashed a pout and looked at Brian with ice blue eyes, looking not too different from a begging dog, and so Brian had to give in with a sigh, picking his guitar case up.

 

He also didn't want to be teased more about his mother hen behaviour. 

 

"Alright, go on then, what are we waiting for?" He questioned, his tone lined with defeat and annoyance.

 

Surely enough, not half an hour later, they found themselves huddled in a not too large, and well heated practice room. It hadn't been an awfully long walk, it was relatively early and not too cold, and for the first time in the history or London, the sun was shining, so John hadn't gotten too cold. Still, Brian had walked unnecessarily close, and was still shooting worried glances John's way as he tuned his bass.

 

They had what they called their music room in their flat, but that was in reality just a third bedroom that served to store instruments and be there for the occasional jam session, song writing or just some individual practice. Truth was, they couldn't rehearse there if they wanted to. The room wasn't soundproofed, other than the make-shift soundproofing the band had done themselves, covering the floor in carpets and the walls with thick blankets and egg cartons, and the four boys really didn't want to be thrown out because the neighbours had complaints.

 

"Why don't we play that new song ? I think that could be fun, mix the set list up a bit, yeah?" Roger suggested from behind his drums, voice raised to challenge the noise of his own tuning.

 

John had to admit, Roger was probably the first drummer he had seen tuning his drums, and he couldn't help but to watch in amazement.

 

"I don't know, I haven't quite finished the guitar solo yet" Brian hummed in opposition, earning an eye-roll from Roger.

 

"you and your bloody solos! Can't we have one song without that? I don't understand why you guitarist always want to be the center of attention!"

 

"We guitarists? That's very mature of you. If it bothers you so much, why don't you complain about Freddie constantly being front and center?" Brian argued, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

"Because he is out God dammed front man. Do I have to spell it out for you? F-R-O-T-N man, can you get that through your thick head?"

 

"It's spelled F-R-O-N-T, you absolute moron! How did you even get through fourth grade!?"

 

"Oh, shut up, Brian! Just because you're a fucking nerd doesn't make te rest of us stupid! Both me and Freddie are just as bright as you, but we can behave like normal people, too!"

 

"It's Freddie and I, Roger!"

 

"Oh shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut uuup! Nobody fucking cares! You know what you are? You're an attention-hungry know-it-all, and nobody fucking likes you!"

 

"boys-" Freddie attempted, only to be cut off by Brian.

 

"Shut up, Freddie, shut the FUCK up!"

 

"Well, seems like Roger is right about you!"

 

"Jesus fuck, Freddie, you're no better than him! Prancing around and ordering people like you own the world! Do you realise how annoying you are!?"

 

"Oh, you're one to talk! You have the temper of a rabid squirrel, you go home with a new bird every weekend, and you have no fucking respect! I would say you're a dog, by every definition, but that would be an insult on dogs!"

 

John watched the argument unfold, sighing softly to himself. He moved closer to the wall, partly to avoid being dragged into the fight, but mostly to avoid being hit by the various items that soon started flying through the air, including drumsticks, six pence coins and bottles of water. John crouched behind his amp, opening the mini-fridge he kept there as a part of his personal mini-bar, and grabbed a beer.

 

He would have worried about his bandmates telling him that he couldn't drink, had it not been for the deafening shouting and how distracted they were trying to avoid being hit in the eye by anything.

 

John watched them, sipping his beer as he leaned against the wall, occasionally plucking a few notes on his bass.

 

It was strange, but even now, as the rest of the band were on the verge of physical confrontation, John felt a suck in the pit of his stomach of self-doubt. It was petty, he realised that, but he wanted to be included, no matter if that meant sitting on the couch and drinking tea as they helped each other study, or being the victim of an argument-fuled attempted murder. Not that he would ever say that to anyone. 

 

He knew it didn't make much sense, but he couldn't help it.

 

Eventually, the figh died down, probably out of pure physical exhaustion, and John put his beer down, finally speaking up.

 

"If you lads are done with your little dispute, what say we actually practice, hm?" He raised an eyebrow, cracking his knuckles out of routine.

 

"Almost forgot about you, John." Brian breathed.

 

Of course, Brain didn't think twice about it, but John certainly did.

 

Lonely, invisible John.

 

"Right" He muttered, turning the volume up on his bass. "Plugged?"

 

"Check" Brian responded out of reflex.

 

"Right then, let's start with Keep Yourself. Roger, darling, count us in, will you?"

 

"One! Two! One! Two! Three! Four!" 

 

And suddenly, John didn't feel invisible. He was a part of something bigger than himself. He was a cog in a machine that ran so effortlessly together. He really was an important component, he was the wire leading Brian and Roger's electricity to the light that is Freddie Fucking Mercury.

 

John closed his eyes, his left hand running over the ebony fretboard purely on muscle memory as he got to know his new instrument, his right hand plucking with vigor as his body pulled and bopped to the beat. This was where he belonged.

 

They had played for a couple of hours, rehearsing individual songs and finally running through the entire set. It all felt so simple, so second-nature, John barely had to think about anything else than how much he was enjoying himself.

 

When Brian finally shot a glance at the clock, he gasped. "Shit, it's eight o'clock! I don't know about you lads, but I am absolutely starving!" 

 

John let out one of his feathery giggles at that, and none of his bandmates could resist the smiles tugging at their lips, Freddie letting out a throaty and whole-hearted laugh.

 

"let's get home. Brian's cooking!" Roger chuckled, getting a short glare from Brian, that faded into a laugh too quickly to be taken seriously. 

 

John shook his head, smiling softly as he kneeled down to place his bass in it's case, before standing up to roll his cord carefully. 

 

"Fuck off!" Brian said, with the biggest smile ever. 

 

"Alright, ladies, let's get home already" Freddie ordered, gesturing to the door with a shit-eating grin. 

 

John smiled to himself, kneeling back down to pack the cord into the black velvet interiors of his bass case. He let his fingers brush lightly over the brass bridge of his new instrument, the golden colour standing out beautifully against the black finish of the body. The neck was oak, and the fretboard was a beautiful ebony, the pickguard was black, but lined with gold, and the hardware, including pick-up covers, were brass or gold-painted. He couldn't quite tell what the body was made of, but it was light enough to let him play for hours without strain, but didn't have the muddy tone you sometimes got from cheap basswood. He hadn't played her much, but he felt like he already knew her, and she would definitely become a favourite.

 

Maybe she already was.

 

"Does she have a name?"

 

John didn't even notice that his friends had been watching him until Brian's ever so soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.

 

Of course Brian was going to ask about names, he was practically married to the Red Special.

 

"Yes" John nodded, closing the case carefully. "I'll call her Goldilocks." He decided. It was only fitting, since the brass bridge was the reason he first fell in love with her.

 

He stood up, a soft smile resting on his lips as he picked the case up, turning to his friends. To his surprise, they were all smiling at him, watching him with what could only be described as adoration. 

 

"Let's get going, darlings" 

 

And with that, they started their barely 20-minute walk back to their apartment. 

 

What had been quite a pleasant walk earlier, soon turned out quite differently for John. The late hour had brought colder temperatures, and the sun had settled long ago, and his loose blouse didn't offer much warmth. Of course, he didn't want to bother his friends, but the second his teeth started clattering, Brian hung his jacket over John's shoulders, shooting Roger a glance in victory. 

 

"I told you he should have taken a jacket."

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short, kind of in-between chapter. I'm gonna update again pretty soon, so keep posted!

After a satisfactory dinner, the band had settled in the livingroom with a few beers each, lazily messing around through a game of scrabble as they talked about nothing and everything under the moon and stars.

 

"But I only started because it was in demand, where I'm from, you know? And then I just fell in love with it! I haven't touched an instrument that fits my personality as well since" John chuckled, shaking his head.

 

They all really matched their instruments. Brian was clever and brilliant, he could make a guitar sing with unmatched beauty through very thoughtful and calculated movements. Roger was rough and wild, but grounded at the same time, no matter how hard he was hitting the stretched skins of his drums, he never lost the beat. He was like a clicker with anger issues. Freddie was outstanding and beautiful, unafraid to put on a show, but still gracious, being able to play a piano, not with the best technique, but with the purest of feeling. John was quiet and calculated, but with the best dancing you could imagine, balancing timing and groove so easily, you'd think he was born with a bass in hand.

 

"Yeah, I get it, same for me" Roger nodded, lightning another cigarette.

 

"Where are you from, anyways? I don't think you ever told us" Brian added, looking up from the scrabble board. 

 

"Ah, good old Leicestershire, Oadby, to be exact" John grinned, shaking his head fondly at the memories of his family home. 

 

"I have never heard of it, tell us more, darling." Freddie grinned, leaning back to get comfortable. 

 

"Yes, please do" Brian agreed. 

 

"No, you don't wanna hear about that" John shook his head, grabbing a handful of peanuts. 

 

"No, no, come on, Deaks, tell us" Roger urged. "I really wanna know about your childhood."

 

John shook his head in amusement, letting out a sigh of defeat.

 

"Alright, fine you win" he chuckle, popping a few peanuts into his mouth. "Let's see, I grew up in a house on the outskirts of the town, with my parents and my siste-" 

 

"You have a sister?" Roger interrupted. "Tell me about her" he grinned. 

 

"Roger-" 

 

"Hey, it's okay, Brian. Her name is Julie, she's my younger sister. She's kind and beautiful, and have been smarter than any of you poor sods ever will be since she was twelve. I love her, and I trust her to make the right decisions in life," He spoke fondly of his sister, though looking up at Roger something mischievous passed over his face. "But if you ever lay a finger on her I'll break them all off one by one."

 

Freddie and Brian broke into whole-hearted laughter at that, Brian nudging Roger playfully. 

 

"You hear that? I hope you can hold those damn sticks of yours without your thumbs!" Brian snorted, a hand landing on John's knee to get some stability. 

 

John grinned, looking at Roger for a reaction, who was just throwing his hands up in surrender. 

 

"okay, okay, I was just asking, no need to get aggressive!" he smiled, shaking his head. "Alright, just tell us about your house, the city, what was it like?" 

 

"oh, well I wouldn't call it a city, exactly. More of a town. It was like you see in movies, you know? Where the sun greets you in the morning, flowing in through double-plated windows and waking you with a blinding light, where the roads are dirt and the streets in town are cobblestone, where the rumours spread fast, where the library is small, not holding much more than a few sections of fiction and one of science, where there's one school and seven teachers, where roosters are more common than alarmclocks, where vinyls are scarce and hard to find, where everyone knows your name. It's like a time capsule, the remnants of a time that used to be." John spoke softly, pausing for a sip of beer. 

 

"That sounds incredibly boring!" 

 

"Fred! Don't be rude."

 

"No, he's right Bri, it is a small town, not quite fit for someone of Freddie's extravaganze, but I always felt at home there." John chuckled softly.

 

"So why'd you leave?" Roger chimed in. 

 

"Ask my parents and they'll tell you that it's because of education, ask my sister she'll tell you that it's to get away from my parents, ask my mates and they'll tell you that I left for the culture." John hummed absent-mindedly. 

 

"So what's the truth, then?" 

 

"Truth is, I never felt like Oadby was quite big enough for me. I always told myself, growing up, the moment I graduate, I'd pack my bass and take the first train out of there. And so I did." He shrugged. "My life had to be something more than that town could offer. I couldn't stand the thought of growing old, still visiting that same small library." John shook his head, still cringing at the thought. 

 

The other three nodded in understanding, Brian's hand, that was still on John's knee, giving him a reaffirming squeeze as John downed the last of his beer.

 

"I get it. I've been there, honestly" Roger nodded, passing John another beer, as he was the closest to the table. 

 

This was John's third beer, not including the one he had at the practice, and though he didn't consider himself a lightweight by any means, he was starting to feel the buzz. He looked around, counting eight opened bottles. Brian was still working on his first, seeming more interested in the mixed nuts on the table, and Freddie and Roger were both on their second. 

 

"So, these mates you speak so fondly of, tell us about them" Freddie smacked his tongue in disapproval, making John giggle that signature giggle of his. 

 

"Alright, alright, I never was one to have many mates, but I had some very close ones. Actually, we" John paused, hesitating for a second. "We had a band" he then admitted carefully. 

 

Brian and Freddie raised their eyebrows simultaneously, and Roger huffed softly in what John could only assume to be surprise. 

 

"A band? What were you guys called, then? Who were these close mates of yours?" Roger questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

"the band was, ehm, let's see, we had Dave on guitar, Rich on keys, Nigel on drums, Alan on vocals, and me on bass. Actually, I started out with rhythm guitar, but then Alan learnt how to play, so I picked up the bass. Always liked bass more, anyway" He explained, thinking back on the many memories he had with that band, many quite pleasant. "called ourselves the opposition" 

 

"So, what kind of band were you? Heavy rock?" Brian asked softly, as John downed about a third of his beer. 

 

"Well, actually..." he started, before something clicked in his brain. "You know what? Stay right there, I'll be back in a second" John ordered. 

 

As he got up on his feet, there was a slight wobble on his knees, and as he wasn't prepared for it, it threw him off balance and he stumbled, only for two large and steady hands, fingers rough from strings, to grab him. 

 

"Woah, buddy, don't fall. There you go, you alright?" 

 

"I'm fine. Thanks, Bri." he smiled softly, before staggering off to his bedroom. 

 

The other three exchanged worried glances. 

 

"He's drunk." Roger stated bluntly. 

 

"Yeah, I noticed. What is going on with him?" Brian added, shaking his head. 

 

"I don't think it's a bad thing, I think he's getting more comfortable. I have never heard him talk this much!" Freddie added. "He's talking my ears off, and for the life of me, I don't want him to stop!" 

 

"Yeah, I have to agree, honestly, it's nice getting to know him like this" Roger admitted. 

 

Brian, being the mother hen he is, could only begrudgingly give a small nod in agreement. He was happy John felt comfortable, but he'd prefer him feeling comfortable without the help of booze. 

 

John eventually returned, waving a cassette tape in the air, a soft smile on his lips as he moved over to the stereo to pop it in. 

 

"This, ladies and ladies, is the opposition." He announced, a long finger pressing the play button firmly.

Soon enough, a series of notes resonated through the flat, and Freddie urged John to turn it up. 

 

Immediately, the band recognised the sound of the Bobby Hebb classic Sunny, sung in the rather deep voice of who they could only assume to be thy Alan guy.

 

"I love that voice, who is he?" Freddie inquired, raising an eyebrow.

 

"His name is Alan Brown, locally for Leicestershire, not sure where he is nowadays, though, apparently he moved about the same time I got together with you lads." John explained, shrugging lightly.

 

"You don't seem too bothered about it" Brian noted, and John simply shrugged.

 

"I'm not really, they were my best mates, but to put that in perspective I never really had any other friends, just people I kind of followed around school so I wouldn't look as lonely as I was" He chuckled softly, going to pop the cassette out of the player.

 

Behind his backs, looks were shared, of pity and worry and sympathy.

 

"Is that so?" Roger tried in an attempt to coax something more out of the young bassist, who just shrugged in response as he slipped the cassette back in its cover.

 

"Anyway, what did you think?"

 

"You sounded great. Alan too, magnificent, truly. Cannot phantom that what I just heard was a teenage band!" Freddie exclaimed, excitedly as always.

 

Again, Roger saw a light peach blush dust John's pale cheeks.

 

"Gotta agree, mate. You and the drummer really melted together. Not as well as me a- you and I, though" Roger grinned, with a short blink when John turned back.

 

"Yeah, I mean really, I always find that the bassist is the difference between a good and bad band, and you honestly sounded like professionals with a total fifty years on your backs." Brian agreed, smiling his stupidly soft smile.

 

At this point, they all saw the blush on John's cheeks. It was quite adoring, really. But none of them mentioned it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John was actually in a band called The Opposition back in his hometown of Oadby, and only left to persue electrical engineering in London. I tried to find some recordings of when John was in the band, but the only ones I could find are three tracks recorded by the band in 1970, one year after John left, but I decided to mention it anyway, since they're pretty good. I hope that doesn't bother you guys as much as it bothers me, and if it does, I'm sorry!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for some major angst in this one!

It was late on Friday night when Brian finally had arrived home, after having gone on a slight feildtrip with the rest of his astronomy class to veiw the total moon eclipse. It had been stunning, as it just happened to be a supermoon as well. This time of year really was the perfect time for viewing the moon.

 

Brian knew Freddie and Roger would be out, 'preparing for the gig', like they used to say, but he was fairly certain that John wouldn't join them, he rarely did. He dropped his keys on the coffee table, stopping in his tracks to listen for any indication of life in the deafening silence. Nothing.

 

In a way, it was comforting, the silence, it was like the world has stopped, like a spell had settled over the apartment, like suddenly someone had pressed pause, and Brian was the only one in the universe, just him and the stars. As a musician, he loved making and hearing sounds, but at times, the noise could feel like more of a straitjacket than anything. He knew, in his heart, you couldn't have noise without silence, just like you couldn't have light without darkness. Often, you wanted the light, but the darkness was always more comforting. 

 

He decided to check on John, see if he was asleep, so he carefully pushed the door to his bedroom open, only to see an empty bed, and Brian's face fell. He turned the lights on, and just like that, the spell was broken, and Brian started panicking.

 

He looked around, still hearing nothing, aside from the faint sound of laughter pushing it's way in from an open window. It was weird, he couldn't see any reason to leave a window open in the middle of February. It was a fire exit, a ladder leading up to the roof, and Brian decided to investigate.

 

He somehow managed to get his lanky limbs through the window and climed up the ladder, and once he peered his head over the edge of the roof, he saw John, wrapped in at least five blankets, holding a glass of some kind of burgundy liquor, looking up at the sky, the sound of what Brian would later realise was Jimmy Hendrix flowing from a small cassette player. Brian had never seen anything like it before, so he could only assume John had built it himself. The sight was quite worrying, and Brian pulled himself up onto the roof, John's eyes drifting from the dark sky for just a moment, flashing a soft smile as a silent greeting.

 

"Hey, Brian. Did you get a good look at the moon? It looks pretty astonishing from here, too.. Shame the light pollution is hiding some of the stars.." John mumbled softly, taking a drink from the glass in his hand. 

 

"Yeah, it was great." Brian nodded, sitting beside John. "what are you doing up here?"

 

"Just watching the stars... I go up here sometimes, when the noise in my head gets too loud, too much to handle" He explained plainly, yet Brian understood exactly what he meant. "it gets too quiet without you guys, nothing to drown it out"

 

Brian nodded softly, his hand finding it's way to John's knee. "It's okay, I get it" he nodded.

 

Suddenly, he felt a shiver run down his spine, making him gasp softly, earning a look from John.

 

"sorry, goose walked over my grave or something" he mumbled softly, but John seemed to understand what happened, moving closer to wrap his blankets around the both of them.

 

At this point, they were so close they could barely move without breaking some major social rules, not that they cared much. Brian would normally be cautious, knowing how fragile their currently forming friendship was, and if they put too much pressure on it, it might shatter like a thin plate glass window, and never become the beautiful thing he knew they could make it. At least, that's what he would have thought a week ago. Right now, he just wanted to sit on that roof, wrapped in blankets and watch the stars with one of his best friends.

 

"Tell me about the stars" 

 

Suddenly, to Brian's surprise, John broke the silence. He had to admit, it startled him, he hadn't noticed the silence, a silence that would normally be unnerving and deafening, but right now it just felt natural.

 

"what?"

 

"you're in astrophysics, astronomy. Tell me about the stars." John repeated, his voice drifting from it's previously comfortable and confident state to somewhat unsure.

 

"Alright" Brian nodded, a smile finding it's way to his lips. It was the first time anyone in the band had really expressed any interest in stars, and he would make sure to seize the opportunity to show off. "You see that star over there? The really bright one?" he pointed, and John leaned closer, trying to get as much out of Brian's direction as possible by looking from his perspective. 

 

"yeah, yeah, I see it." John nodded, not moving back away even when he got a good look of the star. 

 

"Well, it's quite recognisable, and very useful. If you follow that star, you'll find your way north. It's what explorers used before the compass was invented" Brian explained, glancing at John. If the slight tug of John's lips was anything to go by, he already knew what Brian was talking about. Brian let out a huff, shaking his head lightly. John never failed to amaze him. Brian decided to teach John about some of the lesser known but just as impressive stars instead. 

 

After a crash course on stars that had lasted the better part of an hour, a comfortable silence had settled as John flipped the cassette for the third time. 

 

"Do you want to talk about it, Deaks?" Brian eventually whispered, curiosity and worry getting the better of him. 

 

"What do you mean?" John mumbled in response, an could feel a hand settle on his knee. 

 

They were very close at this point, pressed up against each other. They could reason that it was for warmth in the cold night air, but they both knew that they just needed to be close to someone, and who better than someone just as desperate for affection as yourself? 

 

"You know what I mean. The.. The noise, the pain." Brian tried, not putting it as eloquently as he wished he had. To componsate, he squeezed John's knees gently, and John spared him a glance, before returning his attention to the suddenly very interesting floor. 

 

"I... Well. I guess I should, shouldn't I?" He whispered, before adding, "Talk about it, I mean."

 

"You should" Brian encouraged carefully. 

 

"Alright" John took a deep breath. "I.. I'm not sure what's going on, honestly... I've never been much for attention, because attention have often been negative for me, you know?" he mumbled. It wasn't really a question, but Brian nodded anyway. "I liked Oadby because it was familiar, but everyone knew everyone. It was too familiar. I just wanted get out and discover something new, but coming to London..." he paused, shaking his head. 

 

"What is it, John? What happened when you came to London?"

 

"it's silly."

 

"I don't care." Brian assured, and could feel John's hand on top of his own. 

 

"okay... I just.. I came here alone, yeah? No friends, no family, I knew no one. I thought it would be nice, a fresh start, but I just felt so.. So..." John struggled. 

 

"Take your time" Brian soothed, moving his thumb in a circular motion on John's knee. 

 

"I don't want bother you." 

 

"you aren't."

 

"I felt isolated." John breathed. "I felt so fucking lost and confused and just _lonely_. My flatmate had to force me out to parties with him, because I felt like I wasn't good enough for friends. In hindsight, I'm glad he did, or I wouldn't have met you guys." He whispered, shoulders slumping and head bowing in shame.

 

Brian blinked, trying to make sense of what he just heard. 

 

"Well, did it get better?" he inquired after a moment of tense silence. 

 

"the other way around, actually.. Playing next to you guys aren't exactly helping my ego either." John blurted, before his free hand found his mouth, his eyes wide. 

 

He didn't mean to mention that. It was unbearable, feeling useless, but he wasn't going to annoy Brian with that. 

 

"What do you mean?" Brian tried, getting no answer. "you don't feel like you're not good enough for us, do you?"

With that, a shadow passed over John's face, and his gaze lowered, making the expression on his face a million times more heartbreaking than it already was, and Brian decided that that expression was one he never wanted to see on John again. 

 

"You know how I told you about that star? The bright one?" He only got a nod in response. "Well, my mum used to tell me something growing up. If you ever get lost, look for the brightest star in the sky. Now, John, I've had many good friends, and I love Roger and Fred, but some part of me is just screaming, telling me that somehow my mother is psychic, and knew that somewhere along the road I would meet you. John Deacon, I admire you so much. You're one of the strongest people I know, and I understand if you want to do this on your own, but I need you to know that it's okay to talk to us." 

 

Brian could hear a soft sniffle from John, and he could feel how the hand resting on top of his, that was still on John's knee, moved to take his hand and intertwine their fingers. 

 

"You aren't bothering us, you aren't being annoying, and it's really important that you know that it's okay to open up. You're not weak. We won't judge you. We want you to be happy, and despise all the less than ideal moments you've lived in the past, we know that you can be happy, if you'd just let yourself get some of that weight off your chest, and some of that noise out of your head." He continued, pulling John closer with his free arm, as he gave John's hand a reaffirming squeeze. 

 

Somewhere during Brian's little speach, John had felt tears burn in his eyes, and suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, he had started crying. Sobbing. Full on bawling. Brian hadn't laughed. He hadn't left. He has just pulled him close, letting John cry into his shoulder. 

 

"Imagine how bright you could shine if you let your eyes smile again." Brian had whispered, not even bothered by the growing wet patch on his shoulder. 

 

How many people have held him like this? He had cried to his mother and teachers about bruises and scrapes, he had talked to girls for hours on end about life on the road, he had whined to friends about cars and money, but how many people have held him like this? He’s not sure. He’s not sure anyone ever has.

 

John stayed there, face buried against Brian's shoulder as his shaking sobs dies down, the tears no longer running from his eyes, but his cheeks still wet. He stayed until his breath steadied and he became aware of how cold it really was. 

 

As if he'd read his mind, Brian squeezed his hand lightly. "Let's go inside, yeah?" he whispered softly, breath hot against  John's ear. 

 

John nodded, letting out a shaking breath he didn't know he had been holding. 

 

Brian helped John up, grabbing the blankets from the ground, and John took the self constructed cassette player from the ledge, before starting to carefully climb down the ladder, his knees almost as unstable as his trembling hands.

 

About halfway down the ladder, John's foot slipped from the icey steel, and he had to catch himself with those trembling hands. He let out a loud noise in frustration, almost feeling like crying again. Before he did, however, Brian gave him an encouraging smile from above his head, and John managed to calm down enough to make it inside without falling. 

 

He waited for Brian's tall form to squeeze itself through the window with all the blankets, before walking out into the living room and curling up on the couch and locking his eyes on the floor. Before he knew it, Brian had joined him on the couch, sitting very close, a worried look on his face as he gently took John's hand in his own. 

 

It was a small gesture, but so incredibly comforting in every way imaginable. 

 

"I think you need to talk about it, John..." He whispered. He wasn't asking if John wanted to talk about it, no, the time for questions were over. He needed to know. 

 

"I.. Brian, I didn't mean that guys make me feel b-bad about myself... Because I already feel bad about myself, and I look up to you guys and you are all so much better than me and I can't believe you even let me play with you an-" 

 

"John." Brian ordered, though his voice was still soft as ever. 

 

"I.. This is so silly. Do you want to know how I think of you guys?" John whispered. 

 

"Yes, please" Brian nodded, ever the British gentleman. 

 

"well... Wild Roger, Extraordinary Freddie, and Brilliant Brian. Because it's true. Roger is carefree and wild, he doesn't give a shit about what other people think of him, because he knows how awesome he is. Freddie is out of this world, at times I'm convinced he's an extraterrestrial, because it's just impossible that such a humble, kind man could possibly be the perfect performer, right? Wrong, apparently.. And you, Brian Harold May, you are brilliant. A true genius, by every definition of the word. You're more intelligent than I could dream of being, your lyrics are among the best things I've ever read, and you know how to coax people out of their shell easily, apparently..." He whispered, shaking his head. "it's not exactly the best for me ego to be around you guys, much less to be preforming with you.."

 

Brian bit his cheek, a shiver running up his spine. 

 

"What do you think of yourself, then?" Brian whispered. 

 

"Lonely, invisible John." John mumbled, squeezing Brian's hand just to make sure he was, still there, and got a light squeeze in response. 

 

"Oh John... You should have told me about this earlier..." Brian whispered, his eyes burning with sympathy. Or tears. Yeah, that made more sense. "Tell me, when did you start thinking like this?" 

 

"Well.. I'm not sure, really. Before moving. I used to be able to recognise when I did things right, I used to be able to look at my faults constructively, it was all black and white, yeah? But then... It just melted together, everything became gray. I can only see what I'm doing wrong, and when I do something right I always find a way to convince myself that it is wrong, it isn't good enough, you guys would hate it, and at the end, I'm always convinced that you all hate me"

 

"John, we love you."

 

"Why?"

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"Why would you love me? I'm a fucking mess."

 

"That might be what you see, but every time you move, or open your mouth, or show me something you built, or play a new bass line, or even show me how to play something on guitar, I am astonished. It breaks my heart, knowing that you can't see what I do, but I'm happy you're talking about it. I don't want you to go through this on your own." Brian whispered, and John leaned his head on Brian's shoulder. 

 

John was getting tired. He was always tired, but right now he was genuinely exhausted. Who knew getting help could be so tiring? 

 

"Brian, I can't begin to tell you how much this means to me... How much you and the lads mean to me... No matter how much I hate myself some days, playing with you guys just drowns that noise out, and it's so liberating, even if just for a moment." John whispered, closing his eyes. 

 

Brian wrapped his free arm around John, squeezing the hand he was holding with his own. 

 

"You mentioned preforming makes you feel bad about yourself, but playing drowns out the noise?" 

 

"When we're playing on stage, it's pretty easy to get rid of that nervous energy... I dance, or jump, or look at you, or communicate with Roger.. It's when I get off stage that it really hits me... You might have noticed that I dissappear, sometimes."

 

"Yeah. Five minutes, ten minutes, half an hour, even.. I've been meaning to ask."

 

"Well, as soon as I get off stage, I think about everything I did wrong, how much the crowd must think I suck, and if they don't want me in the band, you can't keep me... And then I... Panic, I guess."

 

"panic attacks?" 

 

"Panic attacks." John confirmed. 

"We're going to help you, Deaks. I know we are. Just hang in there." Brian assured, feeling John relax against him. "I know how hard it can be, I know how exhausted you are right now, and I won't tell you to stop pushing yourself, because I know you need to be distracted, all I ask is that you tell me, whenever you start feeling a bit too anxious."

 

Brian didn't know why he was whispering. Maybe because John was so close, or because John had also been whispering, or because everything else was so quiet. It didn't matter, really, because apparently Brian's voice was soothing enough to put John to sleep. 

 

Brian didn't dare move. He didn't want to wake John, and he was by no means strong enough to carry John to his bed on his own. So he just stayed, holding John close as he waited for back-up to get back home. 

 

And surely enough, they did. About half an hour later. At 3am. 

 

Brian heard them laughing as they stumbled up the stairs, the sound muffled by the door. It wasn't loud enough to wake John up, to which Brian thanked his lucky stars. He could hear them hush each other loudly as they stopped outside the door. At least they were considerate. 

 

Someone pushed the door open, and Brian turned his head, meeting Roger's blue eyes. The expression on Roger's face shifted quickly between confusion, to amusement, to realisation, and then to worry. 

 

"What's going on?" Freddie whisper-yelled, and Brian hushed him. 

 

"Shut up. Help me get him to bed, I don't want to wake him."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated, and please feel free to suggest some scenarios for the boys to end up in!


End file.
